


Lady in Red

by JamieOlivier



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Older Man/Younger Woman, One Night Stands, Unplanned Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-02
Updated: 2019-12-26
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:34:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21638923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JamieOlivier/pseuds/JamieOlivier
Summary: After a year of secretly being in love with Hermione, Bill finally gets a chance to show her how he feels. But what will happen between them when they're faced with the consequences of their night together?
Relationships: Bill Weasley/Hermione Granger
Comments: 57
Kudos: 630





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> As with everything I've written lately, thanks to Golden Sparks for encouraging me, brainstorming with me, betaing for me, and just generally being the most awesome friend ever. Love you!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (edit: I can't believe I forgot to add the artwork my lovely Golden Sparks made.)  
> 

Bill paced in the lounge of Hermione’s flat, his hands shoved deep in the pockets of his dress robes so he wouldn’t be tempted to run them through his hair. He hadn’t done much with it, but for once it was neatly styled and hanging loose, free of the leather thong he usually used to hold it back. He shouldn’t be nervous - or, rather, he shouldn’t be outwardly nervous. By all accounts, he was doing a dear friend a favor, nothing more. But as the door at the end of the hallway opened and Hermione stepped out, practically glowing in a burgundy ball gown, the bodice covered in black sequins, he had to admit he’d gotten in over his head. Her hair had been twisted up, leaving only a few curls to bounce tantalizingly over her bare shoulders, and Bill found himself quite without words.

“Don’t you look dashing,” she said as she approached him, the click-clack of her heels on the tile setting the pace for his heart. 

He took one hand out of a pocket and smoothed it down the center of his chest, flattening non-existent wrinkles. The robes were new, commissioned for the occasion, and had cost him a shiny knut. But Hermione… the usually beautiful witch had been transformed into a goddess. Whatever she’d paid for the dress, the seamstress deserved more. If only his famously glib tongue hadn’t deserted him, he’d be able to tell her. He’d charmed a Veela into marriage, for Merlin’s sake, regardless of how short-lived it’d been, but he couldn’t tell the woman who was his best friend how beautiful she looked. Because he was desperately in love with her. 

She smiled, pleased and shy all at once, her ruby red lips parting slowly and ending with the inside of her bottom lip caught between her straight white teeth. Her reaction caused Bill to wonder if he’d spoken any of that aloud, but no, if he’d opened his mouth it was only to gape at her.

“You look beautiful, Hermione,” he finally managed. “Just beautiful.”

Was he imagining things or was that a hint of a blush on her cheeks? “Thank you, Bill.”

“Shall we?” he asked, offering her his elbow.

“Such a gentlewizard,” she teased, taking it.

Clearing his head of her floral perfume and of thoughts about how, despite her heels, he was still easily six inches taller than her, granting him an unrestricted view down the bodice of her dress, he focused on their destination. They apparated into the Ministry a second later and walked down to the ballroom where the celebration was to be held.

It was the fifth anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts, and frankly, the years had flown by. It was also the first time the lead-up to the anniversary had felt like a celebration instead of a memorial. Bill had been invited, of course - all of the Weasleys were - but Hermione’s attendance was rather more _required_ , and she needed to have a date. Unfortunately, it was a frequent complaint from her that being ‘one-third of the Golden Trio’ tended to intimidate wizards, and those who managed to make it past her celebrity status never seemed to measure up to whatever standards she set long enough to be considered a ‘boyfriend’. He couldn’t remember the last time a wizard had made it past a third date.

When she’d looked up at him from her position on his sofa two weeks ago, her brown eyes boring into him, and suggested they go together, he couldn’t tell her no. So, here he was, grateful the majority of wizardkind were either blind or cowards if it meant he got to have Hermione Granger on his arm, even though he was secretly one of the cowards. 

It wasn’t any of that Golden Trio nonsense which held his tongue. His divorce was two years in his past, and had been surprisingly amicable, so it wasn’t that he was still hung up on his ex-wife. Hermione’s relationship with his younger brother - if it could even be called that - had fizzled out only a few weeks after the Battle. Ron had since moved on with various witches of the week, so there was very little concern about what he would say. It seemed cliché that Bill was worried about how a romantic relationship would affect their friendship, but that was a huge part of it. Combined with fears that he wouldn’t measure up and that she didn’t return his interest in the first place meant Bill had been stuck in limbo for over a year.

They mingled, champagne glasses in hand. It was no surprise Hermione seemed to know everyone. Aside from an occasional touch to her lower back to guide her through the crowds or to get her attention, Bill kept his hands mostly to himself, avoiding the curious looks from those who didn’t know them quite as well when he moved from group to group at her side. She saved him from certain embarrassment when dinner was announced and he found himself approaching a table near the front of the room with Ginny, Harry, Ron, and Ron’s current arm candy, whose name Bill had not even registered when she’d been introduced at Sunday dinner the week previous. None of them ever seemed to stick around, so why bother to remember their names?

“Rachel,” Hermione said, leaning in to kiss the younger woman on the cheek, “good to see you again. How are you?”

No one seemed to notice Bill’s sigh of relief over Rachel’s answer. Everyone sat and a few hectic moments followed of waiters bringing out the food. Eventually they fell into comfortable conversation as they ate.

“So, Bill,” Ginny said sometime during the soup course, “not tired of your desk yet?”

Hermione paused, her spoon only an inch away from dipping into the tomato bisque. After the last field position he’d taken, which had been mostly an opportunity to step away from London for a few months so he could clear his head after his divorce, Bill had been quite content inside the Diagon Alley branch of Gringotts. A lot of that had to do with the witch sitting on his right. She never really brought it up, so he hadn’t bothered to mention to her that he’d turned down several assignments in the interim.

He chuckled at his sister’s obvious distaste for a sedentary lifestyle. “No, not yet. There is something brewing at the site in Egypt, though. The goblins are saying they may need me back out there.”

“When would you leave?” Hermione asked quietly, placing her spoon delicately back on the table.

Bill’s heart stuttered at the slight hurt in her tone. He hadn’t mentioned it because it wasn’t definite yet. Even if the chamber the team was currently studying actually did contain a hidden door which lead into another, previously undiscovered, part of the pyramid, there was no guarantee his expertise would be needed to explore it. “They should know something within the month. I would leave shortly after.”

She nodded and Ron picked up the conversation, explaining to Rachel about Bill’s cursebreaking job. Bill listened with half an ear, far more concerned about Hermione’s reaction to him potentially leaving. A waiter passed by a few minutes later and she allowed him to take her bowl away. She hadn’t taken another bite and remained subdued through the rest of the meal. 

Kingsley got up as pudding was being served and made a short speech then announced that dancing would begin once the tables were cleared. This pageantry was the reason Hermione was required to have a date. Kingsley led his wife into the middle of the room, followed by several high-ranking members of the Ministry as well as the Golden Trio and their dates to lead off the dancing.

“Are you alright?” Bill asked once he was certain the music would cover their conversation.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were leaving?” she deflected, directing the question at the center of his chest.

“Because I’m not sure it’s going to happen. There are a lot of ‘ifs’ between here and a portkey to Cairo.”

“How long would you be gone?”

“As long as it takes.”

She seemed to deflate a bit further. “Do you miss it?”

“I miss the challenge. I don’t miss being away from everyone.” _From you._

The song moved seamlessly into another, and Bill found himself dancing with Ginny instead when Harry cut in with Hermione. It went on like that for what seemed like hours, his father and each of his brothers taking a turn - even Fred, the limp he lived with since the Battle making him the least graceful of the bunch, but he managed what none of the others had, to pull a genuine smile from her. Bill was making his way back to Hermione when Kingsley took her hand from George and the whole process started over again with members of the Ministry and the Wizengamot. 

“Go get her,” Harry said after finding Bill at the bar several drinks later. “She doesn’t want to be here and the two of you need to talk.”

Bill found her easily in the crowd. Even if the dress hadn’t been a beacon, _she_ was. He didn’t know the name of the minister she was dancing with, but he could see another waiting to take his place as soon as the song ended. He placed his glass on the bar.

Stalking through the crowd, Bill scowled at the waiting minister, taking full advantage of his scarred face to get the other man to back off. When the next song started, Bill was there, taking her hand and pulling her close, his heart sinking when she didn’t look at him.

"I don't know this one," he said when the lyrics started.

Hermione’s head jerked up and he wondered if she’d known before that moment who she was dancing with. "It's a muggle song.”

"It's nice." 

“Yeah. It’s been around for years. It’s popular.”

The lyrics were distressingly accurate. A man sang about a beautiful woman in a red dress that every man wanted to dance with, and how his own dance with her was exactly where he wanted to be. Maybe Bill had been just as blind as the singer claimed to be, in addition to the coward he’d already branded himself. He was completely and utterly in love with her, yet he’d spent most of the evening too afraid to ask why her mood had so obviously shifted when he’d mentioned returning to Egypt. Was she simply sad her friend would be away for a time, annoyed he hadn’t mentioned it, or was it something more?

Harry was right. They did need to talk.

“Hermione… can we go somewhere else? I’d like a moment away from all of this.”

When she agreed, he took her hand and led her from the dance floor just as the last line of the song whispered through the room: _I love you…_


	2. Chapter 2

The hallway outside of the ballroom was only slightly less crowded, many of the guests having spilled out into the quieter, brighter space to hold their conversations. Their hands still clasped, Bill and Hermione continued to walk, moving farther and farther away from the ballroom until they’d reached the apparition point. The three heroes had been paraded out for everyone to see, so technically Hermione’s duty for the night was done, but the dancing would go for several hours more. He worried it would be overstepping, but she’d let him lead her this far without complaint, he decided, pausing for only a moment before apparating them away.

Gringotts never truly shut down for the night and the goblin working the apparition point only glanced up at them when they arrived. 

“Bill, why are we here?”

It was the first place he’d thought of that wasn’t one of their homes. “Come with me. I want to show you something,” he said instead of answering her.

“Alright.”

Thrilled she still hadn’t let go of his hand, Bill guided her through the winding corridors.

“This is my office,” he said as he pushed open the door to his workroom. “Not quite what you’re used to, I imagine.”

The room was longer than it was wide with three large tables that were covered in artifacts standing parallel to each other down the center. With a glance at him for permission, Hermione walked over to the nearest table, and Bill chuckled when she clasped her hands firmly behind her back. She meandered for a minute before stopping and gesturing vaguely at the pieces of a stone tablet. 

“What’s this?”

Bill stepped closer and began explaining what they knew about the piece and how it had come into the goblins’ possession. Hermione listened intently, asking questions before moving on to another piece and repeating the process. He let himself be guided along, delighted by her interest in his work.

“This is all amazing,” she said after a while. “But I still don’t understand what we’re doing here.”

He took a deep breath. “I wanted to show you something that would put the sparkle back in your eyes. I wanted to be somewhere I could start talking and hopefully figure out a way to tell you how lucky I am you chose me to go with you tonight.”

Hermione scoffed, her gaze lingering on the table rather than him. “You have been hanging around ancient tombs too long if that was your idea of fun.”

“Of course it was fun. Because of you, Hermione. Being with you made every minute of it worthwhile. The way you moved around the room, not bothered if the person you were talking to was a diplomat or one of the waitstaff, you glowed, completely in your element. And dancing with you - in case you didn’t notice, every man there wanted to, but I got to be the first and the last. You... you’re gorgeous, and it’s taken me all this time to gather the courage to say it.” 

She looked up, her cheeks pinking adorably. “Bill…”

Before he could decide what to say next - and whether or not he wanted to risk saying anything more - she stepped closer, her bottom lip once again caught between her teeth, and skimmed her hand up his chest. His heart rate doubled as he began to breathe faster. This was unprecedented. She’d never given him any sign she might want him even a fraction as much as he wanted her. But as her hand settled behind his neck and she used it to pull him down to her, he had to admit, it was a pretty clear hint.

Bill held her gaze as long as he could, searching her brown eyes for some indication of what she was thinking, finally giving up when her soft lips pressed against his and his eyes slid closed of their own volition. Her lips parted against his and he matched her, a shock going up his spine when her tongue stretched out and touched him. 

He let himself hold her, one hand going to her hip and the other caressing her cheek, filing away her mewl of pleasure in case this was a one-off. He tried to let her stay in the lead, but he’d dreamt of this moment for so long it was all he could do not to haul her closer and pour everything he had into the kiss. As it was, she was the one ramping up the intensity, her tongue boldly exploring the inside of his mouth as she leaned into him.

His wolfish side began cataloging tastes and smells and sensations: a hint of the wine she’d had at dinner, the soft slide of her dress beneath his hand, and her growing arousal. The last sang to him, his body responding in kind as the wolf urged him on with thoughts of the pleasure of mating and cubs.

After finding out he and Fleur were incompatible, his wolf side and her Veela heritage working against each other to make it impossible for them to have children together, he’d tried to put the idea out of his mind. But his wolf had reared his head often over the last year to remind Bill he would accept Hermione as a mate, that she would provide them strong cubs. And here she was, finally in his arms.

She ended the kiss and he chased after her mouth, determined not to let her go, but she eluded him with a teasing smile, taking a step away. Her smile never faltered when he growled, low and possessive, the sound torn from his subconscious. Then she darted in with all of the speed of a Golden Snitch to place another fleeting kiss on his lips, wrapped her hand around his, and pulled him along as she left his office, guiding him back the way they’d come until they reached the apparition point.

Though he’d never seen the inside of Hermione’s bedroom, once the effects of apparition had worn off, he knew that was exactly where they were. He had no time to dwell on anything he saw, however, as Hermione began kissing him hungrily, her hands already unknotting his tie. He wasted no time, his wolf murmuring encouragement as he gathered her close, one of his hands searching out the zipper on the back of her dress.

His tie fell to the floor at the same time he lowered the zipper, breaking the kiss to explore the soft skin of her collarbone with his lips and gentle nips of his teeth. With a groan, she sank her fingers into his hair, holding him to her as he let the dress fall, his mouth moving lower as more skin was uncovered. Her bra was strapless and made of black silk, but he had no time to admire it before it fell away as easily as the dress had when she twisted an arm behind her back to release the clasp.

“Bill,” she breathed when he closed his mouth around one straining nipple. 

Without a thought, he picked her up and carried her to the bed, laying her down then kicking off his shoes and shucking his dress robe as fast as he could, afraid his heart might stutter and stop if he didn’t touch her again soon. He never truly thought he’d be here, admiring the flat plane of her stomach and the peaks of her breasts. She was perfection incarnate, her dark eyes watching him take in her mostly naked form. The only scraps of clothing she was still wearing were her knickers and a pair of open-toed heels. 

Kneeling on the bed near her feet, he lifted first one and then the other, removing her shoes and dropping them onto the floor, deliberately placing her feet on either side of him when he was done. Unbuttoning his waistcoat, he let it fall, too.

“Come here,” she said, crooking her finger at him. 

“In a minute, love,” he replied, running his hand lightly up her leg. Her shiver seemed to travel into him, fueling his anticipation. Part of him was surprised he was still upright and conscious, what with how much of his blood had been redirected to between his legs.

“You’re a little overdressed,” she pointed out.

He leaned down and placed a kiss on the inside of her thigh just above her knee. “We’ve got all night.”

The noise she made turned into a moan as he kissed his way up her inner thigh, stopping just before he reached the black barrier of her knickers and then repeating the process up her other leg. The scent of her arousal had increased consistently since they’d arrived in her bedroom, but here it was at its strongest, and he pressed his nose against her knickers to breathe it in. 

His wolf began to rage and howl at him for taking so long, but Bill mentally shook his head. _You’ve got no sense of romance,_ he chided the animal.

Hermione’s hand had found the back of his head again and she rocked her hips against him with a moan that reached deep inside him and pulled. Hooking his fingers around the sides of her knickers, he backed away enough to slide them off her hips. As soon as they cleared her feet, they joined the rest of the clothes on the floor and Bill dove back in. 

“Oh, Merlin,” she cried out at the first swipe of his tongue. “Bill!”

He growled, tasting her sweet juices for the first time, then lost himself in the act, cataloging her every reaction to his licks and sucks. She began to babble when his fingers joined in, sliding deep inside her and pumping at the same pace his hips were grinding into the mattress. He recognized the tightening of her inner muscles as soon as it began and focused his efforts, desperate to feel her come undone. He was rewarded a moment later by the almost painful clenching of her passage around his fingers and her shouts of pleasure.

With one last lick, sending a shudder across her whole body, he sat up, breathing just as hard as she was. She was flushed pink from her breasts to her hairline, her body covered in a light sheen of sweat and her eyes closed as she panted. Once again, his wolf urged him to take her, preferably rough and fast, and once again, Bill pushed his need down. Her eyes flew open, finding him almost immediately, and Bill held his breath, waiting for her reaction.

“I believe I mentioned you being overdressed,” she said as she sat up, reaching for him.

Bill moved closer, letting her fingers work the buttons of his shirt as he looked down at her. The pink was receding, but the smell of her arousal had barely dimmed with her orgasm, he was pleased to discover. As soon as there was enough room, she slipped her hand into his shirt. It landed on his pec, too high to cover his heart, but exactly where the rest of the scars Greyback had given him were. She didn't even seem to notice the unusual dips and divots in his skin, her hand sliding up and along his shoulder to the back of his neck before pulling him in for another kiss.

As soon as their lips touched again, her hands returned to the buttons, divesting him of his shirt before attacking the clasp of his trousers as though it had personally offended her.

“Let me,” he breathed into her mouth. She nodded, skimming her fingers teasingly up his stomach as he pulled away from her. He quickly stripped off his trousers and pants, letting them fall carelessly to the floor, then returned to settle between her thighs.

She fit perfectly beneath him, better than any fantasy or dream. He watched her pulse thump beneath the skin of her neck, wondering for a moment if he was hearing the rush of her blood in his ears or if it was his own.

“Now, Bill.”

The wolf agreed.

He only had to shift his hips to align them, his breath catching as her body welcomed him. Her hands landed on his waist, her hips tilting up to coax him deeper. With a soft exhale, he complied, slowly sinking into her until he was buried as deep as he could go.

The noise she made when he stilled barely covered his own. Grabbing the back of his neck, she pulled him down for a kiss, and with the overload of sensory information, Bill's control over the wolf slipped. His hips began to move on their own, his tongue mimicking the motion. Hermione moaned into his mouth with each thrust, tiny bursts of sound he somehow knew would soon turn into full-throated cries. The wolf devoured each of them like the rarest delicacy. 

Bill struggled with the desire to regain control. This might be his only chance to be with Hermione, and he didn't want to spend all of it a passenger in his own mind. But never had sex felt like this. For all his wolf's prior urgency, the pace he set was steady and just short of languid, easily sustainable over long periods. Each push and pull only reinforcing how tightly her passage gripped him. Hermione herself felt incredible. Her hands skimmed over his naked skin, fanning the flames of the fire within him, and the scent she put off left him dizzy with everything it implied: desire, home, love, family. 

Kissing his way down her neck, Bill felt the wolf's attention shift back to her pulsing blood. He could mark her, claim her for all the world to see. She would bear his mark and his cubs, and he could have _this_ any time he wanted. He'd wasted so much time already. She wanted him. She would be a good mate.

Gently, he closed his teeth around the place where her neck met her shoulder. It wasn't enough to break the skin, just enough to gauge her reaction. And by the screams of pleasure which met his ears, he was worried about nothing. Still, he let go, unwilling to do such a thing without discussing it with her first, and was confused for a moment because Hermione's cries hadn't faded. 

Her orgasm took him by surprise, forcibly pulling him back to the forefront of his mind where he discovered the wolf's pace had increased to near inhuman speeds. She clung to him as he faltered, the erratic clenching of her muscles around him bringing him to the verge of his own peak. He slowed, backing away from the precipice while at the same time drawing out Hermione’s orgasm, stopping entirely when she slumped beneath him, her chest heaving in time with her deep breaths. 

Overtaken by temptation, he dipped his head, catching one taut nipple in his mouth and flicking it with his tongue. She moaned loudly, surging against him. 

“Move,” she whined.

Bill lifted his head. He’d banked his own need for now, but it wouldn’t stay that way once he started moving again. “I’m close. It’ll be fast. Can you go again?”

“Yes. God, yes.” She ran her hand up his back, pulling away abruptly when he hissed at the stinging pain over his shoulder blade. A slight scenting of the air alerted him to the droplets of blood she’d just disturbed. Her eyes turned shy. “Sorry.” 

“Don’t be,” he said as he started to move again. He hoped it would scar. His scars were a badge of honor and this one would be his favorite.

This time he stayed in control, sweat beading all over his body as he chased his orgasm. Hermione moved sinuously beneath him, meeting his every thrust with a flick of her hips which caused him to bang against her cervix. It was working; she gasped with each one, and he felt himself take a step closer to bliss.

He lapped at her skin, tasting the salt and _her_. It was everything he’d ever wanted - and that thought alone was enough to put him back on the edge.

“I’m going to come.”

She made a noise that sounded like _umph_. “Yesss.”

“You?”

Before the question was even out of his mouth, he knew the answer, her muscles beginning to flutter tellingly. 

She caught her bottom lip between her teeth, her eyes struggling to stay open. “Mmhmmm.”

“Hermione, look at me. Please, love.”

Brown eyes met his and he fell, his hips stuttering as he poured everything he had into her. She followed him by a fraction of a second, screaming his name.


	3. Chapter 3

Hermione had little experience with taking blokes home for the night, and she supposed it would be different if the wizard in question was a stranger as opposed to her best friend. For starters, a bloke from a bar might have left afterward, but Hermione woke up, the scent of Bill and sex forever burned into her memory, his arm draped heavily over her waist and his breath hot against the back of her neck. Her attempts to extricate herself resulted in his slight erection growing progressively more insistent, and her body throbbed in response.

After that first glorious time together, they’d gone two more rounds before falling asleep, bodies still entwined, only a few hours before dawn. Of the incredibly short list of partners she’d had, none of them had ever managed to reignite her passion so easily and none of them had ever made her feel so loved.

Her eyes stinging, she dressed quickly in comfortable clothes, stepping around where her dress lay in a heap on the floor and sparing only a glance for the sleeping wizard in her bed. As much as she wanted to, she couldn’t keep him. 

All she had to do was pretend nothing was wrong and hopefully Bill would play along. He couldn’t know how desperate she’d been to have him just once before he left again and inevitably realized how much he missed being out in the field. She struggled to ignore that he’d obviously been drinking at the ball, reasoning that if he’d been pissed he never could have successfully apparatated them to the bank, convincing herself that she would have stopped if he’d been impaired.

Maybe, in a few years when he tired of the adventure, she might have finally broken free of the heartache she experienced every time he was near. She didn’t know when she’d fallen for him, what had started off as nothing but an idle schoolgirl crush on her best friend’s eldest brother morphing into the reason no other wizard could hold her attention for very long. And now she’d thrown herself at him.

The kitchen was too bright, mocking her steadily darkening mood. Pulling out a pan, she _accio’d_ eggs from the refrigerator and started to cook. Thankfully, breakfast was a simple enough meal to make while your brain was otherwise occupied. 

What if he’d just gone along with it? He’d never been anything more than friendly with her, after all, and it had been over a year since the last time Hermione saw him with a witch who wasn’t family. Of course. That had to be what it was. An unusually long dry spell, plus alcohol, plus a willing witch, equaled… the best sex of her life. Merlin, she might not have survived if he actually loved her.

“Morning,” he said somewhat sheepishly as he stepped into the kitchen wearing his trousers and oxford from the night before, still unbuttoned, granting her a tantalizing view of the muscles she’d now spent lots of time acquainting herself with.

“Morning,” she echoed as brightly as she could, sliding a pair of eggs onto a plate beside a slice of toast and handing it to him. Without meeting his eyes for longer than a second, she turned back to the hob and cracked another egg into the pan. “You know where everything is.”

The plate landed heavily on the worktop behind her and she jumped. 

“Hermione.”

“Yes.”

“We should talk about this.”

Her heart sank. Well, there went that plan. “There’s nothing to talk about.”

“I have to disagree.”

“What do you want me to say? Want me to apologize? Fine. I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking.”

“For Merlin’s sake, witch,” he growled, and it sounded so different from the noises he’d made only a few hours earlier but she shivered all the same. “Look at me.”

He grabbed her arm and spun her around, his eyes searching hers. 

She tried to remain strong. He was leaving soon and he’d had plenty of time to make a move over the last year… if he’d really wanted her. Breaking down in her kitchen the morning after they’d had sex was not the final memory she wanted him to have of her. She would save that for later, after he’d left.

“That’s it, then?” he asked when she said nothing.

“Your eggs are getting cold.”

━━✫・*。

Hermione leaned against the side of the bathtub, breathing hard. It was the third morning in a row she'd emptied her stomach during breakfast and the truth of why it kept happening was getting harder and harder to ignore. When she finally had enough strength to move, she brushed her teeth then went back into the kitchen, where she’d left her wand on the table. Casting the spell was easy, seeing the confirmation of her suspicions in the silver glow which surrounded her abdomen, not so much. 

She was pregnant.

Harry was the only one who knew what had happened between her and Bill after the Ministry ball, and he’d promised to keep that secret from even Ginny, despite the great risk of peril to himself. Hermione could just imagine his reaction to finding out he was going to be an uncle. Being Harry, he would insist she find a way to contact Bill, but when the cursebreaker left a few weeks earlier, it had been with the understanding he would be off-grid for the entire time he was in Egypt. He’d told her he could be gone for as much as a year, which meant he might not return until well after the baby was born.

Which brought up a very unpleasant point: Did she really want to do this, carry this child, birth it, and potentially raise it alone? Even when Bill returned from Egypt, there was no guarantee he’d want anything to do with her or their child. Her hand slid along her flat stomach. More importantly than ‘want’, _could she_? Her job at the Ministry paid generously, but she often worked long hours with few breaks. With her parents still somewhere in Australia unaware they had a daughter, she would be dependent upon Harry and the Weasleys for help. And Merlin knew what they would think if the baby took after its father. 

It wasn’t a decision she could make today. She’d had barely ten minutes to wrap her head around the idea that she was pregnant, there was no way she could decide whether or not she wanted to keep the baby without fully weighing all of the pros and cons. Looking at her reflection in the mirror atop her dresser, she vowed to enjoy herself at the party the Weasleys were throwing for Harry’s promotion then make the decision before the weekend was over.

She should have expected the alcohol. Not even five minutes after stepping into the Burrow that afternoon, Fred slid a glass of something foamy and sweet-smelling into her hand. At her raised eyebrow, he only smirked and tossed her a cheeky wink, “Guaranteed hangover free, love.”

In that moment she knew. Would it be difficult without Bill? Yes, most certainly. Would her friends and adopted family hound her relentlessly about the wisdom of her choice? Unquestionably. But there was no con she could imagine which would outweigh the life of the child in her womb. 

It took Harry one hour and one raised eyebrow to figure out she wasn’t drinking and why. 

“Hermione --”

“I know.”

“You have to --”

“I know.”

“Everyone will --”

“Harry, I _know_. Do you honestly think I haven’t considered all of the options?” Harry opened his mouth but quickly closed it again and Hermione cheered that her reputation gave her a pass this time. Even if she hadn’t meticulously planned this out to the last detail, she knew it was the right thing to do. “I can do this, with or without him.”

“Have you told him?”

“I only found out this morning. But it doesn’t matter anyway, you know how the pyramids’ magic affects the owls. It’s practically the Bermuda triangle over there. The letter will just sit at the owl post in Cairo until they get tired of holding it and then it will come back.”

“He’ll be gone a long time.”

She sighed. It wasn’t like this was a unique occurrence. Hermione had lost count of how many times over the years Molly had lamented her two eldest sons’ occupations, one who could be out of contact for years at a time depending on the complexity of his work and the other who, while he remained in contact, couldn’t be parted from his dragons for anything short of all-out war. Both situations had improved after Voldemort’s death. Bill had started taking fewer field assignments and Charlie had transferred to the new Wales reserve, promising to make at least one family dinner a month.

“I don’t need him. I am perfectly capable of doing this by myself.”

“Liar. I’ve never seen you so scared, and that’s saying something.”

“This is huge, Harry, and books can only help so much. What do you expect?”

“I expect you to at least make an effort to contact the father of your child. You might be capable of doing it alone, but you don’t have to and it’s not fair to him. The longer you wait to send that owl, the more chance you have of it missing him. You should have written him before now - hell, you should have cleared the air before he left.”

He was right, and she wondered when her best friend and brother had gotten so wise. "I'm scared it will change things, between me and him."

"It most certainly will. But who’s to say it won't be for the better?"

“I’ll think about it.”

“Hermione --” he tried to argue, but Ginny found their hiding spot and pulled them both back into the living room where Harry’s guests were gathered.

Not long after, Hermione begged off and went home. Almost a month had passed since the ministry ball, and Bill had been gone half of that time. Even before she’d known about the baby, Hermione had missed him terribly. It hadn’t occurred to her until he was gone just how enmeshed in her daily life he was. They lived two separate lives, but only by the slimmest definition of the word, any time not spent sleeping or working had been spent together.

For the second time since the ball, Hermione broke down and cried.

━━✫・*。

Harry remained true to his word, keeping her secret, though he was far less forgiving about the lack of owls she’d sent to Egypt. He insisted that even if she was certain the owls wouldn’t reach Bill, she should still try to send them. 

Hermione couldn’t bring herself to tell him about the growing stack of returned letters crammed inside a shoebox in her closet. She’d written the first one with no small amount of trepidation, wasting countless sheets of parchment in an effort to get the words exactly right, and then she’d sent it off with a small prayer that Bill hadn’t yet reached the dig site. It had come back unopened two weeks later, as had all of the ones after it.

She couldn’t portkey during her first trimester, especially not such a long distance, the risk to the baby was too great. By the time she got the all clear from the mediwitch, Bill had been gone almost four months. There was no doubt in her mind he was deep in the Egyptian desert, hard at work trying to unravel whatever curses were preventing the team from accessing the new room they’d discovered before the summer began. 

The goblins were not happy to see her. She went in with her metaphoric hat in her hands and waited patiently for hours before finally getting an opportunity to explain the situation to them. She _needed_ to see Bill or, at the very least, get word to him about the baby. But her emergency and her ‘domestic problems’ didn’t garner her any sympathy. Forbidden to even attempt a journey to Bill’s location, she returned to writing letters in the hopes one of them would catch him outside of the protected site.

Over time the letters became a journal of sorts as well as absolution, something she could show Bill when he returned, proof she’d made attempts to include him in their child’s life. But with every returned owl, Hermione’s heart broke a little more.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I received this lovely piece of fanart from Laura.

“Hermione dear, I’m so glad you could make it.”

“Oh, Molly,” Hermione said, allowing herself to be wrapped in a huge hug, “it’s Christmas, of course I’m here.”

Molly pulled away, her hand hovering hesitantly over Hermione’s ever-increasing stomach. “May I?”

“I’d be a little offended if you didn’t,” came her laughing reply. Hermione took Molly’s hand and guided it to her left side. “I think she’s been looking forward to Grandmum Molly’s pie all day.”

Both women fell silent and after a moment a huge smile broke out on Molly’s face when Hermione’s daughter did a quick somersault. Her eyes watering, Molly leaned in to press a kiss on Hermione’s cheek. “Not too much longer now.”

“One more month,” Hermione agreed. She’d asked the mediwitch for a range of dates based on her cycle in addition to the more accurate magically determined due date. It was one of the few times being muggleborn had played into her favor; the mediwitch hadn’t even questioned her interest in the information. Telling the Weasleys she was due on 30 January had reduced some of the questions about her baby’s father, since that placed the date of conception several days before she’d taken Bill to the Ministry ball. And when her baby was ultimately born closer to its actual due date of 3 February, it would be easily explained away as a typical first born arriving late.

“I can’t help but notice you’re still alone, dear.”

Though the words were spoken kindly, Hermione’s shoulders slumped at the frequent admonishment. It had begun only minutes after she’d told the family about the pregnancy, at the first Sunday dinner following her conversation with the goblins. No matter how many times she’d insisted there was simply nothing to be done about the father’s absence, Molly still held hope that one day Hermione would step into her kitchen with a ring on her finger and a wizard on her arm.

She couldn’t imagine what Molly would say if she knew she was ‘Grandmum’ in truth, that the foreign dignitary Hermione had let them all assume was her baby’s father had, in fact, been far more interested in her secretary, Gerald, than her. The family had been incredibly supportive, everyone simply assuming she’d been told to raise the child on her own if she wished. Her child would grow up knowing her grandparents, aunts, and uncles as such even if Bill ultimately turned his back on them. Hermione’s one remaining fear was that her daughter would resemble her father.

━━✫・*。

She had red hair, of course. Nine uncomfortable months of carrying her, all while lying about her parentage, followed by 28 of the most miserable hours of Hermione’s life, and her daughter had the audacity to arrive sporting tiny wisps of what was undeniably Weasley hair. Ginny’s shocked gasp as the nurse laid the wailing newborn on Hermione’s chest informed her that the pain and exhaustion weren’t causing hallucinations. 

Roselind Willow Granger would not, apparently, be ignored.

“Hermione,” Ginny breathed, the one word a question, but Hermione ignored her friend in favor of quieting her daughter’s cries. There would be plenty of time for accusations later.

‘Later’ came when Molly was finally allowed into the room after Rosie had been cleaned and was settling in to nurse. 

“Mum,” Ginny said, clearly a warning but it went unheeded as Molly approached the bed to see her swaddled granddaughter. Her face was the only thing exposed, and even that was pressed so tightly against Hermione’s breast there was nothing of her visible which would out her father.

“Oh! Hermione, she’s so sweet.”

They chatted while Rosie ate, Molly mostly asking questions about the birth and the baby, all while Ginny sat silently. Molly was in full grandmum mode the instant Rosie detached, but then the little knit bonnet she wore shifted when Hermione passed Rosie to the older witch’s arms. 

Molly removed it without a thought then hesitated before putting it back in place, her eyes wide. “You said --”

“No, I didn’t. Ron commented that the French attache had spent a lot of time around my office and I agreed. I never said he was the father.”

“But why not tell us the truth?”

“Because it doesn’t matter.” Really, though, it didn’t matter. They wouldn’t have treated her any differently knowing Bill was the father of her child and it would have only created ill will toward him for not being there for her. It wasn’t her place to tell them the truth. When Bill came back if he wanted his family to know Rose was his daughter then he could be the one to tell them.

Molly’s face turned a darker shade of red than her hair. “‘It doesn’t matter’? Of course it matters! Was it Ron?”

“Ron? What are you -- no. Molly, no. It wasn’t Ron.”

“That boy. I’m going to give him a piece of my mind the minute I see him.”

In typical Ron fashion, he chose the worst possible moment to enter the room. He stood, cringing, barely a foot inside the door as his mother bore down on him.

“Ronald Bilius Weasley!”

“Molly!” Hermione yelled, finally getting the older woman’s attention. “It’s not Ron.”

Rosie started to cry and Molly diverted all of her considerable attention to soothing her. 

Ron had finally found his tongue. “What the bloody hell is going on?”

“The baby has red hair,” Ginny spat. “Rose is a Weasley.”

“Rose is a _Granger_ ,” Hermione insisted. “And until such time as her father steps forward to claim her - _if_ her father steps forward to claim her, that’s not going to change. Your brothers are not the only redheads in this world, Ginny Potter.”

“No,” Ron said, “but I know you, ‘Mione. We all do.”

Hermione wasn’t sure why that sounded vaguely threatening.

━━✫・*。

The first two weeks after the birth were probably the most uncomfortable of Hermione’s life. It wasn’t Rosie; she was an ideal baby, only fussing when she needed to be fed or changed. Her feedings, much like her hair, were very Weasley, and she put on weight easily. The pediatric mediwitch was very pleased with her growth so far. It also wasn’t Hermione’s own body issues, leaking breasts and striped, flabby skin that had once been firm and unblemished making the woman in the mirror look very different from what her mind still expected to see.

No, Hermione’s issues stemmed from elsewhere. Molly obviously didn’t believe that Ron wasn’t Rosie’s father, and Ginny was sore Hermione was keeping a secret from her. Added into the mix was Ron’s newest girlfriend, who had done nothing but glare at Hermione since she’d come home from hospital. She was no more convinced of Ron’s innocence than Molly, but since she hadn’t actually known Ron when Rose had been conceived, there was very little she could say about it.

The men weren’t faring any better. Ron, in an attempt to clear his name, had gone full-auror on his brothers, interrogating each of them until the Burrow had become an incredibly uncomfortable place to be. Even Charlie, stuck in Wales for hatching season, had been sent borderline howlers. Obviously, no one was admitting to being Rose’s father, and Hermione’s lips were sealed. She should have known the twins would never let things remain so tense.

They started taking bets, anything from the mundane - five to one odds that Charlie would eventually admit to being Rose’s father, but two to one odds that Fred would, since (in his words) he was the most handsome of them all and he was surprised Hermione had resisted him this long - to the ridiculous - Rose had inherited her ginger hair from Hermione, who’d somehow picked up the trait through proximity to the family - to the absurd - Rose’s father was actually one of Molly’s twin brothers, who’d been dead for more than 20 years by this time. 

Bill, still somewhere in the Egyptian desert, was the only one spared the family drama. Deemed by everyone to be far too sensible to father a child then run away, Ron didn’t think to write him (for all the good it would have done), and his name wasn’t listed in the twins’ betting book. Hermione tried not to think about what his family would ultimately say when the truth was revealed, and, in a moment of complete insanity, had laughingly placed five galleons on Fabian Prewett.

Despite the suspicion, the Weasley family had rallied around Hermione and her daughter. At Molly’s insistence, Hermione was temporarily living at the Burrow - in Bill’s old room, no less - while she adjusted to life with a newborn. She and her daughter were family, she was told, blood connection or no, and the words “definitely a Weasley” were increasingly spoken with affection. Eight pairs of hands were on rotation, someone always available when Hermione needed help, whether for feedings or dirty nappies, and she couldn’t be more grateful.

No one breathed when Charlie finally returned from Wales at the end of February, his breath catching as he stepped out of the floo and his eyes landed on Hermione, Rose dozing in her arms. Molly’s eyes followed her second eldest as he crossed the room and Hermione carefully transferred the infant to him. The sight of the burly dragon keeper cradling Rose in his arms brought both Hermione and Molly to tears.

“Hullo, Rose. I’m your Uncle Charlie,” he whispered, and the twins scrambled to change the odds in their book.

And that was all it took for Rose to wrap her final uncle around her tiny finger. He was an absolute godsend, volunteering to do anything and everything Rose needed and was the third most likely - after Hermione and Molly, of course - to be seen holding his _comoara_. He claimed experience with the hatchlings had prepared him, making him unshakeable even in the face of the most disgusting nappy blow-outs, and his already chaotic sleep schedule adjusted well to Rose’s needs.

Hermione watched him with increasing fondness, sure that had she not already been madly in love with his brother, his tenderness with her daughter would have swayed her in his direction. As things stood, however, Charlie was edging out Harry as a potential godfather. Harry cared, Hermione knew he did, but Charlie was going the extra mile without ever needing to be asked. It helped that he was also Bill’s dearest friend and would have certainly been chosen for that fact alone if she and Bill had done this together.

“Don’t give up on him,” he whispered as they sat together in front of the fire, Rose in his arms. It had been a particularly rough, sleepless night, fraught with colic, and Hermione dozed where she leaned against Charlie’s shoulder. He was leaving in the morning, returning to the reserve, and she was going to miss having him around.

“Hm?” she asked sleepily.

“Bill. I know it’s hard without him, but it won’t be forever.”

Startled to wakefulness, Hermione sat up and looked at Charlie. He simply gazed back at her as though daring her to lie and tell him he was wrong.

“How --”

“You realize he and I tell each other everything, right? Not _everything_ ,” he quickly amended when she stopped breathing, “but definitely all of the important things. You are one of the important things, Hermione. Merlin, if I had a galleon for every time he talked my ear off about you... He was so nervous that night, I could see it pouring off him. Two days later, he’s evasive… miserable, and the two of you are hardly speaking.”

Hermione sniffled and laid her head back on his shoulder.

“I don’t know exactly what happened,” he continued, bouncing Rose lightly in his arms when she started to stir, “but I can guess. You should know that he didn’t want to leave, but he felt it was for the best. He was terrified of mucking things up even worse, so he decided to give you time. And, as things typically go with these jobs, he’s been gone much longer than any of us wanted.”

“I miss him,” she said, her voice thick with tears. “Charlie, I love him so much.” 

“Good.” He pressed a kiss on the top of her head. “You tell him that when he gets back.”

She nodded. “I will.”

The room went quiet, the only noises were the crackling of the fire and the occasional soft sob which managed to escape Hermione.

“Charlie?”

“Yeah?”

“Will you be her godfather? I think it’s what he’d want.”

“I would be honored, _cumnata mea_.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you missed the lovely fanart that has been made for this story, please check out Chapter 1 and Chapter 4. Thanks again to Golden Sparks and LKat719 (Laura).

The excitement of Egypt paled considerably when the animal who lived in the back of Bill’s brain started raving about home every time his face turned vaguely northwest. The one taste he’d gotten of Hermione had ignited a fire in his wolf, who had never been so possessive and insistent about Fleur. It had only worsened as the weeks passed, his wolf practically foaming at the mouth about mates and cubs at even the slightest provocation. Unfortunately, Hermione had made her stance on 'them' perfectly clear. 

He'd started to wake up when she slipped from his arms, and he’d sleepily watched her get dressed. She must not have seen his open eyes, because she’d only glanced at him before leaving the room. He’d let her go, his stomach sinking, many years having passed since the last time he’d had such a strong feeling of overstaying his welcome. But still, he’d continued to hope it was just awkwardness up until she made it clear she intended to ignore everything that had happened between them.

Not one single day had passed since that wasn’t filled with regret. He’d analyzed everything he could remember about the ball and what happened after and had come to one conclusion: She had wanted him, but only for one night. It wasn’t good enough. 

His part of the job was finally complete and it was time to go home. He planned to convince her that they were compatible and to give them a chance. He didn’t care if it took him another year, he wasn’t going to let her slip through his fingers because of cowardice any longer.

As he packed, his eyes fell on the stack of unfinished letters. Most of them had started the same way: him desperately trying to pour out all of his thoughts about her and them together in a way which would make sense, to explain how hollow he felt without her. They had all ended the same way, too, with him giving up after realizing that even if he sent the letter, he’d be unlikely to receive a response. He hadn’t been able to live with the uncertainty. Gathering them up, he crammed them into his bag.

If everything went well, he would see her again within a day or two. Sending a small prayer skyward, he hiked his rucksack higher on his shoulder and apparated over to the Cairo ministry. When he arrived, there were dozens of witches and wizards in line ahead of him and it was an hour later before it was finally his turn. As he walked up to the window, he tried to push away thoughts of what kind of reception he would get when he arrived home.

“How can I help you?” drawled the man sitting on the other side of the service window.

“Portkey to London, please. Gringotts should have reserved one for me.”

“Identification, please.”

Bill presented it then watched as the clerk’s previously bored expression evaporated when he looked at it. “William Weasley?”

“Yes. Is there a problem?”

Leaning back in his chair, the man yelled down the line of other clerks. “Weasley’s here!”

Confused, Bill watched the clerks closest to him struggle to look around the customers they were supposed to be serving, a few even standing in order to see him. “What’s going on?”

Another wizard ran up, a supervisor by the look of his uniform, who was red-faced as he huffed and puffed, skidding to a stop beside the clerk. Bill watched, completely confused as the clerk handed over his ID. 

"This checks out," the supervisor said after a moment, then _Accio'd_ 'Weasley letter'. When it arrived, he returned Bill's ID along with a single scroll of parchment. "There you go, sir."

Bill turned it over in his hands, recognizing the neat handwriting without having to read the return address in the corner. Unsurprisingly, his wolf began to pace restlessly. "It's from… my friend."

"That's some friend. One of those has arrived every week like clockwork since last July," the clerk offered. "It's been a shame sending them all back again. I'll admit, I'm more than a little curious what's so important."

Breaking the seal, Bill unrolled the parchment. It was dated the week prior.

_Bill,_

_Things are good here. Work is finally getting back to normal. Now if only I was getting enough sleep. heh. I guess that will come with time._

_Charlie is coming home this weekend. The latest disaster at the reserve kept him nearly a whole month, and this immediately after he promised to be home more. He’s looking forward to getting reacquainted with Rose. Molly refuses to listen when I say there’s nothing there, and continues to watch the two of them carefully every time he’s home. Charlie’s such a good sport about it, though. It warms my heart to see how much he loves her._

_You’ve been gone almost a year now and it’s getting more difficult to be optimistic about your return. I really hoped you’d be back by now, finally giving us a chance to discuss everything we should have said before you left. Instead, all I have are these letters, and every time I sit down to write one I just know it’s going to end up coming back and joining all of the others. As good as it feels to put my thoughts on parchment, I can’t help but wonder what you’d think of everything that’s happened._

_Are you wrapping up your work? Am I going to see you soon?_

_I hope so._

_Yours,_  
_Hermione_

Her words left him more confused than anything else, like he'd joined a conversation mid-steam, but by the time he got to the bottom of the letter, the only parts of it that mattered were that she wanted to see him and the word 'yours'.

It was the wolf who looked up and met the clerk’s eyes again. "I need that portkey."

When Bill arrived at the Ministry in London, he had to actively struggle against the urge to hunt down Hermione. As badly as he wanted to see her, it wasn’t worth angering the goblins, especially when he planned to ask for extended leave - assuming things went well when he actually did see Hermione. If they went badly, he might just ask for another field assignment. 

So, he did his duty, apparating over to Gringotts. He’d sent monthly updates, but with communication being unpredictable at best, the goblins always insisted on a ridiculously long debriefing process. When he was finally free, Hermione’s flat was his first stop, but no matter how many times he knocked, no one answered the door. Defeated, he apparated over to the Burrow.

“Mum, Dad, I’m --” His voice died in his throat when Hermione rounded the corner and stopped short in the doorway between the lounge and the kitchen.

“Bill?”

He froze, desperate to run to her and pull her into his arms but also uncertain of his welcome. He should have expected her to be at the Burrow if she wasn’t at her own home, but the sight of her blindsided him. “Hermione?”

She looked different. There were the obvious signs of the sleep deprivation she’d mentioned in her letter, but that was far from the only change. Her body was fuller, rounder, especially around the hips, and her breasts were larger. He had only a second to wonder before Ginny appeared from behind her and placed a squalling infant in her arms. 

For a moment, he forgot how to breathe.

“Hi,” Hermione said in the silence, her voice breaking as though that single small word had cost her so much to say.

On the periphery of his awareness, Bill saw his sister’s eyes widen as she began to back away. All of his attention was on Hermione and the baby she held, the missing puzzle pieces of the letter he’d received slotting into place.

“Can I…” He gestured at the baby.

“Yes, of course.” She stepped closer, wiping away tears with her thumb, and put the baby in his arms. “This is Rose. Roselind Willow Granger.”

“Rose,” he breathed, looking down at her to see his hair and his nose. He didn’t even have to scent her to know for sure, but he did it anyway, smelling himself on her somehow. It all made sense now, his wolf’s increasingly adamant behavior around Hermione before he’d left, the constant nagging sensation in the back of his head that he’d forgotten something important, and her cryptic letter. That was the moment what Hermione said finally sank in, and he looked up at her, all of the longing inside him building to a fever pitch. “Rose Granger-Weasley,” he said firmly.

“Bill, I --”

“I was miserable out there in the desert when all I wanted was to be here with you. You don’t know how many times I nearly threw it all away to come back. I’m so sorry you had to go through this alone. If I’d known… I won’t leave again. I’ll stay. You and I can -- Hermione, say something, love, please.”

“Yes.” The word itself is so soft, he would have doubted his superior hearing had she not also nodded, the tears streaming down her cheeks not a good indicator one way or the other.

He slung his free arm around her, pulling her into his side and pressing a kiss into her hair before finding her lips with his own. It was hard to quantify how much he’d missed something he’d only had for such a brief time, but as their mouths moved together, it was almost as though he could feel the cracks which had formed in his heart mending. Breaking the kiss, he looked down at their daughter, who was blearily opening her eyes after having slept through what was surely the most important conversation of her young life. 

“Hi, Rose. I’m your dad.”

A gasp from the lounge finally pulled them both out of their bubble to see his parents standing side by side, Ginny hovering at Mum’s elbow.

He looked back down at Hermione, “You didn’t tell them?”

“I didn’t know if you’d --”

“Mum, Dad,” he cut her off, unable to bear the pain and doubt in her voice, “Let’s make it official: Come meet your granddaughter.”


	6. Chapter 6

Dinner was predictably awkward. His siblings and Harry Potter came out of the woodwork to see him - or, rather, to see him with Hermione and Rose. Upon arrival, the twins threw their hands up and accused him of costing them a small fortune. When he tried to get them to explain, one of them muttered something about throwing the match. Hermione merely chuckled as she shook her head and dragged him away from them. Ron’s indignant, “I told you!” earned a few eye rolls, too.

Everyone except Charlie was in attendance, but Bill learned that his brother now made an effort to attend at least one dinner a week, usually early in the week since without a family of his own, he’d been assigned to the weekend crew. Hermione’s eyes were shy when she told him she’d asked Charlie to be godfather to their daughter, almost like she was asking permission after the fact. Bill was quick to reassure her she’d made a great choice.

Not long after dinner was over, Hermione excused herself to bring Rose upstairs and Bill gladly followed.

“When did you move in?” he asked, looking around his old bedroom. Many of his things were still where he’d left them, but there was plenty of evidence that Hermione had been living there for some time. Books he didn’t recognize were stacked on the nightstand and stood alongside his own on the bookshelf, but the biggest indication that she wasn’t just using the room temporarily were the cot and changing table which took up most of one wall. His wolf breathed in the combined scents of the three of them and purred contentedly. 

“The day she was born. Your mum insisted. She absolutely refused to believe Rose wasn’t a Weasley.”

“Why didn’t you tell them? It’s obvious they would have accepted it.”

She didn’t answer right away, instead moving to the changing table and laying Rose down upon it. He sat on the edge of the bed and watched her make quick work of checking Rose’s nappy then dressing her in pyjamas with snitches on them, a gift, Bill assumed, from one of his Quidditch-obsessed siblings. He didn’t mind giving her a moment to collect her thoughts, but despite her earlier agreement that they were going to give this a proper go, he found himself getting more and more anxious as the minutes passed.

When she finished, she turned and laid their daughter in his arms. Rose’s hand closed around his finger when he offered it and he was momentarily overcome by a sense of awe. Then he looked up to see Hermione watching them with tears in her eyes. 

“We weren’t together,” she said, “and, after the way we parted, I wasn’t sure we ever would be. Your mother wouldn’t have cared about that. She’d have hauled you home from Egypt by her bare hands if she’d known, and that kind of pressure seemed unfair to you. I wanted you to be able to make the decision for yourself. If that ultimately meant I was going to have to really start selling the ‘other redheads in the world’ line I told your sister, then so be it.”

“I never should have left.”

“I shouldn’t have made you feel like you had to. I regretted pushing you away so much, even before I found out I was pregnant. No one knows, but I wrote you every week. A lot of them in the beginning were the same, telling you I was pregnant and asking what you wanted to do. After a while it became a way to keep you informed about how the pregnancy was progressing, even if you’d never see them.”

“There was one waiting for me today when I arrived at the ministry to pick up my portkey. It didn’t make any sense until I saw you with her. Part of me wondered if ‘Rose’ was some witch Mum was trying to set Charlie up with.”

Hermione smiled fondly. “I can’t wait for you to see him with her. He’s such a baby hog. You may have to hex him to get any time with her at all when he gets back.”

“We’ll see about that,” Bill grumbled, looking down at Rose who had let go of his finger and started to fuss. He tried calming techniques he hadn’t used since Ginny was a baby, but nothing seemed to be working. 

Once he’d exhausted his repertoire, Hermione cleared her throat, "She’s probably hungry. I’d just finished feeding her when you got here and it’s been about three hours.”

_Three hours_. Bill’s mind spun. He couldn’t believe his life had changed so drastically in such a short time. The impression he got from his wolf felt distinctly like _it’s about bloody time_.

“Bill?” she prompted.

“Right. Sorry,” he said, shaking himself as he started to stand. “I’ll just --”

“No, it’s okay. You can stay if you want. I got over any embarrassment pretty early on.”

She sat on the bed beside him, scooting herself until her back was pressed against the headboard then she grabbed a pillow and placed it on her lap. Once she settled, Bill passed Rose to her.

“Are you sure?” he asked as she began unbuttoning her shirt with her free hand.

“I’m sure. Honestly, Bill, you were my best friend before any of this. I’m perfectly fine with you being here while I nurse our daughter.”

With a few motions that looked just as much like witchcraft as anything Bill had ever learned at Hogwarts, Hermione exposed her breast for mere seconds before offering it to Rose who calmed immediately as she latched on. It was fascinating to watch her eyelids flutter closed as she began to eat, her hand landing on the swell of her mother’s breast where her tiny fingers curled in slightly. Bill had never seen the tender expression on Hermione’s face before, but he knew in that moment these two witches would always be home to him.

“We need to clear one thing up,” he said when it occurred to him that despite Hermione’s trust, he was staring. She dragged her attention away from Rose long enough for him to see the concern in her eyes. “Nothing bad,” he rushed to assure her.

“Go on.”

“That night wasn’t some whim for me. You were more than just my best friend. I’d been crazy about you for a year.”

She huffed a small laugh and it looked relieved. “We’re a right pair, aren’t we? I'd spent months thinking there was no way you could possibly feel the same way about me.” 

Bill leaned closer. “I love you, Hermione.”

With a smile she leaned closer, too, until her face was only inches away from his. “I love you, too.”

The words had barely cleared her lips when he captured them in another kiss, this one full of promise for the life they were embarking upon together. Hermione pulled away first, focusing her attention back on Rose. 

“Do you still have the letters? I’d like to read them, catch up on everything I missed.”

“Of course. Yeah. They’re in a shoebox in the closet.”

Softly running his hand over the top of Rose’s head, Bill whispered, “I love you, too,” before getting up and opening the closet in search of his letters.

“Top shelf, in the corner,” Hermione called after him.

“Got it!” he said triumphantly then returned to the bed and opened it. “I’m glad I came home when I did, you would have needed a bigger shoebox soon.”

Without a word, Hermione pressed herself into his side.

A quick spell organized the letters by date and Bill opened the first one as Hermione moved Rose to her other breast.

_Dear Bill_


End file.
